


Won't Let You Choke

by Snow



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-11
Updated: 2011-04-11
Packaged: 2017-10-17 22:59:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snow/pseuds/Snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>John is enjoying a cup of tea made for him by Mrs. Hudson – who had given up all protestations about not being a housekeeper the first time she saw John struggling to stay on his feet long enough to fill the pot with water – when the woman herself appears in the doorway, the heavier tread of Inspector Lestrade following her up the stairs.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Won't Let You Choke

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Morgan_Stuart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgan_Stuart/gifts).



> Many thanks to kristin for the beta, and to morganstuart for the donation to Australia and the prompt. I hope this is something like what you wanted.

John is enjoying a cup of tea made for him by Mrs. Hudson – who had given up all protestations about not being a housekeeper the first time she saw John struggling to stay on his feet long enough to fill the pot with water – when the woman herself appears in the doorway, the heavier tread of Inspector Lestrade following her up the stairs.

"I told him Sherlock needs to focus on recovering," Mrs. Hudson says, casting a disapproving look in the direction of the stairs. "He's in no state to go rushing about through crime scenes."

"It's quite all right." John waves a hand at the Inspector, who has finally reached the flat. "Please, have a seat."

"Can I get you anything?" Mrs. Hudson asks, taking on the role of host as if she had never objected to the man's presence.

Lestrade flashes her a gentle smile, but he doesn't seat himself. "No thank you." He turns to John as Mrs. Hudson departs, after a quick glance in the kitchen. "Sherlock out?"

"No," John replies. He doesn't understand why Sherlock's relatively minor injuries have kept him mostly confined, only going out under duress to buy groceries. Sherlock has seemed to be entirely contented with letting Mrs. Hudson mother him. John realises after a moment that Lestrade doesn't have a message to pass on. "He's sleeping."

"Oh," Lestrade says, and he sounds disappointed.

"Check the facts before you report them," Sherlock says, and he's still in his robe but he looks more alert than he has since the hospital released them both two weeks ago.

John brightens automatically at his entrance, and he brightens even more as he takes in Sherlock's improved condition. "You going to help Lestrade with his case, then?"

Sherlock scoffs, and John swallows the urge to be annoyed. It's perfectly within Sherlock's rights not to share any of the details of the injuries he sustained with John, but then he shouldn't be irritated that John doesn't know them, not when Sherlock seems the same as he always is when he's bored. John can't stop himself from believing that Sherlock would do better if he had a crime scene to examine. John fairly certain that's what _he_ needs; the pain in his legs must mostly be a psychosomatic result of having to be off his feet.

"We're actually doing fine on our cases at the moment," Lestrade replies. He looks uncertain, like he just realised that he doesn't have the sort of relationship with Sherlock that allows him to actually drop by for a chat and a cup of tea. Or maybe he does, but John doesn't fit into their friendship.

"Right then," John says, because it would be rude to ask which of his possible explanations is actually the case. Sherlock probably knows, and John probably doesn't need to.

"How _are_ the lovely Donovan and Anderson?" Sherlock sounds mocking, of course, but there's the same warm tone to his voice as there was when he first introduced John to Sally.

"Doing their jobs, unlike _some_ people."

It's on the tip of John's tongue to step in to defend Sherlock – Lestrade had said he was doing fine with his current cases – but Sherlock's laugh cuts him off before he can open his mouth. Sherlock's quick with the followup as well. "That why you're here? To help me do my job?"

Lestrade sighs as he sinks into the chair next to John. "Your job is not to annoy me." He shoots a fond, if exasperated, look at Sherlock that John catches.

Sherlock flops dramatically onto the sofa, which provokes an amused smile from John only when he's sure Sherlock isn't paying any attention to him. "I must not be succeeding if you'd show up of your own free will, without a case for me to solve."

"Awfully arrogant, aren't you? I might have been here to see John."

Sherlock throws his arms up before letting them fall back onto the cushions. "You don't care a whit for John. None of you do."

John doesn't have the slightest clue how to react to that, and it's clear within a second that neither does Lestrade. "That's not at all true, Sherlock," John says.

"Oh, sure, Sergeant Donovan found time to think 'Poor sod, this is what happens when you get mixed up with Sherlock', when she read the report. And Mycroft sent a card, but that's only because he knew I wouldn't accept one, and it's the _proper_ thing to do when someone he cares about is injured. And you – you're here for me, to check that I've not been driven insane by boredom in the tragically long two days it's been."

John makes a face. None of those people have any obligation to worry for him, and he's not quite sure why Sherlock thinks they should. "To be fair, that's been my concern as well," John says. He wonders if this is actually about John's health, or if it's about Sherlock feeling stifled.

Sherlock sits up, posture stiff. "I'm not angry with you right now. Don't make me be."

"My apologies."

Sherlock only relaxes a little. "Don't do it again." John isn't sure if he's referring to John worrying about Sherlock, or if he could tell John was suspecting him of selfishness.

Lestrade's focus is still entirely on Sherlock. "You're fine, then?"

Sherlock sighs. "I am."

Lestrade smiles softly at that, and John admits to a certain feeling of relief himself, to hear Sherlock put it so plainly. "And how are you, John?"

John shrugs, feeling like a five-year-old accepting an apology forced by the teacher and knowing it isn't remotely genuine. "I'm fine."

"Your leg hurts." Sherlock's tone is chiding, as if he thinks it's possible that John's simply forgotten that particular fact.

Lestrade's eyes flicker to take in the cane lying beside John's chair, before returning to Sherlock. It's only natural that Sherlock dominates this conversation, even if it technically centres around John. "Aggravated war injury?" Lestrade asks.

"Then you recognize the cane. Good. But no." John could feel gratitude for Sherlock opting not to mention that John's limp was psychosomatic, but he can come up with any number of reasons Sherlock would leave that fact off, and none of them are kindness. "It's new, and he needs to be off his feet to allow any chance of full recovery. _That's_ why I'm not taking any cases at the moment. I haven't lost my mind, nor do I plan to."

John feels a little floored. "Sherlock. I'm fine."

"You're a doctor, John, you should know better. You can't will this one away with the right combination of adrenaline and mental exertion. You haven't even been getting enough sleep." Sherlock speaks matter-of-factly; it's clear he views John's lack of recovery as an interesting fact for analysis.

"Well I can't _rest_ when you're making me worry about you."

Lestrade snorts at that, drawing John's attention back to him for a moment. His face doesn't give any hints as to what precisely he found so amusing about that particular statement. John returns his gaze to Sherlock, who just looks annoyed. "I don't like it when you gang up on me," he says.

John tilts his head. "We _weren't_ ," Lestrade replies, and John resists the urge to jump in with his agreement.

"No, but you were thinking about it." Sherlock lets his eyes flicker between them for a moment, before he huffs and stands up. "Fine."

John turns to Lestrade, the question of what Sherlock's agreeing to on the tip of his tongue. It's clear that Sherlock's not in any particular mood to give out answers, but John isn't following his thought process at all right now.

"Just let me get changed first, and then I'll go out with Lestrade to look at his crime scene." Sherlock spins, stalking off. "I expect you to be awake and alert when I return, John, I refuse to toss ideas off Anderson and his ilk."

John shoots an amused smile at Sherlock's retreating back. "And you don't work without being continually praised on how brilliant you are. Don't worry, I'll be here."

He can't help the chuckle that bubbles out of him as soon as he hears the door to Sherlock's room click shut, but that's okay, because Lestrade's joining him in it. They're both perfectly comfortable in their roles as satellites in Sherlock's orbit, and Sherlock would never raise an actual objection. He just sees being praised for his brilliance as part of his due.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments (by all means including constructive criticism) are welcome and appreciated.


End file.
